


all this (and love too) will ruin us

by TechnicalTragedy



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Heartache, M/M, POV Second Person, Spoilers for Episode 58
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 03:33:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7297786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TechnicalTragedy/pseuds/TechnicalTragedy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"...but gods above, you love him, and it is foolish, it is dangerous, but you could never quite make yourself stop."</p>
            </blockquote>





	all this (and love too) will ruin us

**Author's Note:**

> because vax and gilmore REALLY NEED TO TALK but im not the one to make them and all i know how to write is Sad Children. angsty introspective on our dear, glorious gilmore.
> 
> title from the poem [Scheherazade](http://youngerpoets.yupnet.org/2008/04/22/scheherazade-crush-by-richard-siken/) by Richard Siken

“Would you do anything for me?” he whispers into your skin.

 

“Yes,” you say, or think, but he hears you either way. “Yes, anything. Always.”

 

And his teeth are at your throat. He bites down, but the warmth of your own blood streaming down your neck is holy, it is the worthiest sacrifice to the religion that worhips him, and you, and the both of you in your union. But he is no longer taking your life. He kisses you and his mouth tastes of iron but there is no blood; it must be metal, not your death. He consumes even without harm.

 

It's always harm, isn't it? He's always made you ache so exquisitely but gods above, you love him, and it is foolish, it is dangerous, but you could never quite make yourself stop.

 

His hands are on you, not slick with blood but with wet all the same.

 

He presses kisses to your throat where he's just torn it out. “Anything,” he echoes your earlier sentiment. “You would do anything without regret, without thought.”

 

And the words do not come to you, your lips do not quiver. His ears are deaf to you anyhow.

 

“I would have done everything,” he says. He is suddenly far from you, and you are colder than death. He loved you. He loves you. He doesn't want to hurt you. He squeezes vicelike around your heart and you cannot breathe or think or function; you are dead but alive, your still-beating heart is held in his grasp without a thought to your safety. You reach for him. He is lost to you.

 

Your eyes open, and he stands before you. It's all been another instance of an idle mind's wandering.

 

“Do you trust me?” you ask.

 

He is slow to respond, and you suppose it is deserved. “Yes,” he says.

 

And you give him the push he's always needed, and witness the first unfurling of his fledgling wings. To him you are not a silly, lovestruck fool. You are brilliant. He doesn't know how much he hurts you, and it is your own fault, for allowing him to wield such power over you.

 

There has been so much loss. Everyone has been touched by grief. Though some days you feel childish for it, you mourn alongside all those others. When he looks at you with such affection in his gaze, you could almost pretend it's okay.

 

You don't say you love him. He already knows, and hurts you despite it.

 

Instead you say, “Fly high, my bird.” It feels petty to relish the hurt in his eyes, but you do.

 

If love is pain, then the two of you must love each other very much.

 


End file.
